Chapter 11: Threadbare Truths
The stolen Altenan goose-down pillows were softer than sin. Nyx scowled as she stabbed a tent pole into the cave's floor, only for the entire structure to collapse sideways—again.
Regulus watched from his perch on a rock, his nose still crusted with dried blood. "You're fighting the fabric," he said.
Nyx's shadow lashed at his ankles. "And you're enjoying this."
He shrugged—then winced as a sharp discomfort flared up his left forearm. Right. Numquam Itineris didn't tolerate half-assed advice. Pushing off the rock, he adjusted the tent's support rope. The discomfort eased.
"Better," he muttered.
Nyx rolled her eyes but didn't stop him when he took over. She tossed him one of the ludicrously embroidered blankets—gold thread spelling out "By Athena's Grace"—and smirked when he recoiled.
"Magic boy afraid of a little divine stitching?"
Regulus folded the blanket inside-out before sitting. "It's tacky."
The fire crackled between them. Nyx stretched, her shadow dancing across the tunnel walls in ways that defied physics. "So," she said, picking at her nails, "you really think this is all some inked-up story?"
Regulus stilled. "You wouldn't believe me."
"Try me." Her teeth gleamed in the firelight. "I've met gods who thought they were authors. Pathetic ones."
A beat. The flames hissed.
"How so?" he asked carefully.
Nyx's smile didn't reach her eyes. "They always forget—stories need consequences." She flicked a pebble into the fire. "Real ones. Not just... dramatic deaths."
The fire crackled between them. Nyx stretched, her shadow dancing along the cave's walls in ways that defied physics. "So," she said, picking at her nails, "what sort of story are we in right now?"
Regulus didn't miss a beat. "Is it wrong to try to pick up girls in a dungeon?"
Nyx stared at Regulus across the crackling fire, her shadow freezing mid-flicker against the tunnel wall. "What did you just say?"
Regulus poked at the flames with a stick, avoiding her gaze. "Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon? That's the name of the story we're in."
A beat of silence. Then Nyx's shadow lashed out, snatching the stick from his hand and snapping it in two. "You're joking."
"I wish I was." He finally met her eyes. "It's a light novel series back where I'm from. Except here, the timeline is decades before the main story began, and instead of—"
Nyx's hand clamped over his mouth. Her fingers smelled like smoke and iron. "Seriously?" Her voice dropped to a whimper. "I can tell your not lying."
When she pulled back, Regulus noticed her shadow had grown still, normal and mundane. "So you're telling me," Nyx said slowly, "that you think we're characters in some... romantic comedy?"
"More of an action-harem series, I think."
Nyx's fingers twitched toward her dagger. "Is this why you wanted a harem?"
Regulus rubbed his nose, smearing dried blood across his cheek. "I would've wanted one whether this was fictional or not."
The fire popped between them. Nyx's shadow stretched unnaturally long against the tunnel wall. "How much do you know about the future?"
"That's a spoiler." He smirked. "I'll keep it to myself—"
Thwack.
Nyx's palm cracked against the back of Regulus' head, snapping his teeth together. "Don't play smart," she hissed, her shadow coiling around his ankles like chains. "Is this why you're so desperate to get strong? Because you know what's coming?"
Regulus' smile didn't waver. "Of course not. I don't need to worry when the main character exists!"
Nyx stared at him for a long moment before returning to her spot by the fire. Her shadow settled into something resembling normalcy. "You know why I think you're hilarious for calling this world fiction?"
Regulus rubbed his head. "Why?"
"Tell me." Nyx poked the fire with a stick. "Am I mentioned in your light novel? What about Silver Hollow Depot?"
"No," he admitted. "You aren't. And there's no Silver Hollow Depot in the story either."
Nyx's teeth gleamed in the firelight. "So that means we exist. *I* exist, even without your stories. My eternal life—you don't know any of it, do you?"
Regulus shook his head.
"See?" Nyx tossed the stick into the flames. "I'm real. Even if my entire life was written down there, I'd still be real. Because I'm talking to you *now*."
Regulus opened his mouth, then closed it. "I'm... not sure."
"You're tired." Nyx tossed him a blanket—the non-divine one. "Sleep to fix your low Mind. By tomorrow you'll proclaim that I'm right."
As Regulus curled up, he wondered what they should do from now on. How should be train to grow stronger the fastest. Thoughts swirl as he falls asleep.
-----
Dawnlight trickled through cracks in the tunnel ceiling, painting Nyx's stolen pillows in pale gold. Regulus woke to find her buried in a nest of Altenan luxury—goose-down clutched to her chest, her face smoothed of its usual sharpness in sleep.
She's actually pretty, he thought, if she'd just stop talking.
Then her eyelashes fluttered.
"Staring's rude," Nyx mumbled into her pillow, voice thick with sleep.
Regulus rolled onto his back. "You're using five blankets."
"And you're using none." She cracked one eye open. "So?"
The remnants of last night's debate clung to the air between them. Nyx stretched, her shadow stretching with her in a way that defied the morning light's angle. "Well? Am I real?"
Regulus studied the tunnel ceiling. "You're heavy enough to snap tent poles. That's real enough."
Nyx's pillow hit him square in the face.
Nyx yawned, stretching like a cat in her stolen luxury. "Since you're already awake," she said, picking at a loose thread on her blanket, "train your memory."
Regulus blinked. "What?"
"Your skill." She waved a hand. "Numquam Itineris corrects your movements, right? Use it to correct your thoughts."
"That's not how it—"
"Try." Nyx rolled over, bundling herself deeper into the blankets. "Old memories. New ones. Don't let them slip." She shot him a look over her shoulder. "And wake me when you're done."
With that, she buried her face in goose-down.
Regulus stared at her retreating form. The idea was absurd—but then, so was a skill that guided his muscles through discomfort. He closed his eyes, focusing on the faint prickling at his temples.
Remember, he commanded silently.
A jolt of discomfort spiked behind his eyes—not pain, but pressure, like a hand squeezing his thoughts into shape.
The pressure behind Regulus' eyes sharpened—then twisted.
-----
Steam curled from an earthenware bowl. Small hands—his hands—gripped the edge of a sun-warmed table.
"Open wide, ██████," a voice chided. A calloused palm tilted his chin up.
The spoon touched his lips. Beef stew, thickened with milk and... something else. Cinnamon?
Discomfort flared—his skill rejecting the image. Not black. Her eyes weren't black like he'd always thought.
They were blue.
Ocean-blue. The kind sailors drowned in.
The memory dissolved like sugar in tea.
-----
Kobold blood seeped into the cracks of his new boots. Nyx stood atop a boulder, her shadow slurping at spilled entrails.
Nyx dramatically draped across the rock. "I've had cursed artifacts treat me better than these accommodations." Her shadow formed a tiny noose and kicked its legs.
Regulus didn't need his skill to know she was full of it. "My apologies, Lady Nyx," he said with mock reverence. "I'll skin some goblin hide for your bedding tonight."
Her shadow lashed out, tripping him face-first into the blood. "Sleep there instead, little moth. Then you'll understand my suffering." Nyx grinned like a brat who'd stolen the last sweetroll.
-----
Regulus gasped. His head pounded like he'd drunk bad wine.
Nyx lounged against the cave wall, cleaning her nails with a dagger he'd never seen before. "Took you long enough."
She flicked the dagger's point toward his face. "Two hours in a trance. What did you see? Your first kiss?"
The blood drained from Regulus' face.
Nyx grinned. "What? Did I get it right, my little king?"
"No," he said. The words came out hollow. "I just realized why I never had a mom."